


Fix

by dontcareajot



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcareajot/pseuds/dontcareajot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles never stays anywhere for very long, but he keeps coming back to Alex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fix

“You're back.”

Miles stands on Alex's doorstep, drenched from the rain, his clothes clinging to him. His hair, quite a bit longer now than the last time Alex saw him, drips at a steady pace onto his jacket. He's smiling but his lips are blue from the cold.

“Thought you'd be happy to see me.”

A clap of thunder rattles the windowpanes. Alex lingers in the doorway, blocking Miles' entrance. “'S been a while.”

Miles' smile slides slowly off his face. “Come on, Al,” he says, serious now. It's dark out, he's cast mostly in shadow, but Alex can just make out the smear of blood on his chin. “Don't be like that. Let me in.” He doesn't ask. He says it like he knows Alex will, one way or another.

He's not wrong. Alex steps aside, cringes as Miles trails mud and water over the carpet. He watches as Miles sheds a layer, removing his jacket and hanging it overly-carefully on the hook by the door, revealing a dingy blue button-up that's seen better days. Miles hesitates, then, facing away from Alex, guitar case in one hand and a small duffel in the other. Together they contain everything Miles owns, Alex knows. It's precious little but Miles has always sworn it's enough.

Miles takes a deep breath, his thin shoulders rising and falling with the movement. He sets his things down and finally turns to face Alex. He looks poised for a rebuke, a harsh judgment, but all Alex has to offer is a sigh. He raises an unsteady hand to gently trace the outline of Miles' newest bruise, a nasty purple thing on his cheek. It stands out starkly against his uncharacteristically pale skin. The blood on his chin, it turns out, is thanks to a split lip. More blood, what's left after Miles' trek through the storm, has dried near his temple. Alex suspects there's a cut there hidden by his hair.

Miles leans into his touch, watching him intently.

Alex doesn't ask what happened. He used to. Miles always refused to give him a straight answer.

“Let's get you cleaned up, love,” he says instead.

Miles lets himself be lead to the bathroom, where he dutifully hops up onto the counter while Alex roots about for the first aid kit. It is, unfortunately, a familiar routine. One they've been going through the motions of for the better part of ten years.

The storm rages outside. Alex's bare-bulb light flickers in time with the lightening. You can hear every raindrop, every howl of the wind from inside Alex's tiny, shabby flat.

“I were almost afraid you'd be gone,” Miles quietly admits. Alex can feel his eyes on him as he sets about wetting a washcloth.

“What would you have done then?”

Miles closes his eyes, rests his head against the mirror behind him. “Moved on, I suppose.” His voice is almost drowned out by the noise of the storm.

With Miles' gaze averted, Alex feels safe studying him. He pauses to take him in- how tired he looks, how gaunt. How blood-speckled and dirt-flecked. How rumpled and wind-blown. But even as worn as he appears, Alex still looks at him and feels this overwhelming fondness. This drowning need to be near him. Alex is constantly surprised by the intensity of the feeling. He always expects it to have been lessened in Miles' absence, but that's never the case.

He steps between Miles' legs to reach his face. He takes Miles' chin in hand and starts there, gently wiping away the dried blood.

“You were gone a long time,” he says. The _I missed you_ is implied.

“Anything I need to know?” Miles asks. He always asks, and he always asks with that same look on his face, like he's scared to hear the answer.

“No.” Alex dabs at the blood near his temple, pushes his hair aside to reveal a small cut on his forehead. Alex takes an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit. Miles flinches as he cleans it.

“You know,” Alex adds, combing Miles' wet hair back into place with his fingers. It's so long the ends are curling. “If you're so worried about what might happen while you're gone...” He leaves the sentence unfinished. It's pointless, anyway.

Alex goes to step away but Miles traps him with his legs, holding him in place. Alex doesn't fight it. He stands perfectly still while Miles looks at him, eyes dancing over his features like he wants to memorize them. He runs a finger along Alex's jaw to his chin. He tilts his face up, pauses, like he always does, like he's afraid Alex has changed his mind. It's up to Alex to close the distance between them. The kiss is light, chaste- barely there, really, with Alex being careful of Miles' split lip. But when they separate Miles is smiling. Relieved. He leans forward again, drapes his arms over Alex's shoulders and hides his face in his neck, breathing him in.

Miles' trousers are still damp and cold from the rain, Alex can feel them through the thin layer of his t-shirt where Miles' knees are pressing into his waist, but Miles' skin is warm. Alex winds his arms around him and they stay like that for a moment, neither of them eager to part. It's always like this, both of them clingy. Alex more so, perhaps. He's not the one who leaves, after all.

“Get changed,” Alex says, finally stepping away. “I'll find us summat to eat.”

Alex's kitchen is his least favorite room in the flat. The tile, once white, has faded to a sickly yellow color, the faucet is leaky, the fluorescent light buzzes obnoxiously, and the cupboards are almost always empty. As they are now, in fact. Alex searches them all to no avail. He can't even remember the last time he went grocery shopping. Or the last time he ate anything more substantial than toast, if he's being honest with himself.

“It's alright, love,” Miles says. When Alex turns he finds him leaning against the counter, dressed now in Alex's clothes- an old, ratty t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms that sit low on his hips. He's so skinny. Alex is sure he's lost weight.

“I'm sorry,” he says, apologizing on reflex. “Tomorrow. I'll- I'll get us something tomorrow. If... you'll still be here?”

Miles' long legs only need two strides to cross the room. He's just tall enough that he doesn't have to go up on his toes to plant a kiss on Alex's forehead. “Do you _want_ me to still be here?” he asks, voice low, eyebrows furrowed as he searches Alex's face for an answer.

Alex grips Miles' forearms, keeping him close even as he asks, “Why'd you come back?”

Miles' face falls. He tries to pull away but Alex holds him.

“Is it- money? I haven't got much but I've a little saved up that you can have.”

“No, Al, I don't want your fucking money.”

“What, then? Sex? Did you just need a place to crash?” He shakes his head. “So long without a phone call- no letters, no fucking contact at all. I thought you were gone for good.”

Miles sighs. He says, quietly, “It's _Valentine's Day_.”

Alex stills. “Oh.” 

“I came back to be with you.” Miles' eyes are so expressive. They're probably Alex's favorite feature of his. Right now he looks like he can't decide what he wants to convey. Love, certainly- he's never looked at Alex without love, and perhaps that's what keeps Alex so enthralled- but also fear, anxiety, hurt. “Have I ever asked you for money? Fucking hell, Alex, how could you even-”

“Sorry, I just- I had to ask.”

Thunder shakes the flat. They both jump, split apart, but Miles takes Alex's hand not half a second later, holding it in two of his own. He likes to touch.

Alex thinks maybe Miles will ask him again. He seems on the verge of it but then he shakes his head, says, “It's late. Do you think you can sleep?”

An odd question. Alex isn't the one who struggles sleeping. That's always been Miles. Right now he looks exhausted, though, so perhaps tonight will be an easy one.

Alex nods and lets himself be led into the bedroom. Miles doesn't bother flicking on a light. He can still navigate the room in the dark, it's changed so little.

Alex loves sleeping next to Miles. He always holds Alex close, arms around him, their legs tangled together. Alex's flat is perpetually cold, thanks to a wonky, unreliable heater, and Miles is so _warm_ and he always whispers, “I love you,” just after they settle. He still smells like rain, and city, but that's nothing new. That, too, is comforting.

With the sound of the rain and Miles beside him, Alex is quick to fall into a restful sleep. But he wakes a handful of hours later and Miles isn't beside him anymore. He reaches out instinctively to his side of the bed- and it's always _his_ side of the bed, even when he's been gone for months and Alex can barely remember what it's like to sleep next to him- and finds it cold.

A glance at the clock tells Alex it's still early. The light seeping in through the blinds is gray, dull. It sounds like the rain has stopped.

Alex pads quietly into the kitchen. An empty tea mug that wasn't there the night before sits beside the sink. Even that is somehow comforting. A small sign that Miles is- or was- here.

He isn't left wondering for long. His feet carry him into the den. That's where he finds Miles, perched beside the window, smoking out of it with a far-off look in his eyes. Outside the city is cloaked in fog. It looks like the start of a dreary day, but thanks to the storm it all smells new. Clean. Fresh and earthy, and it won't last but Alex doesn't mind Miles letting it drift in through the open window for a while.

Alex takes a seat beside him, perching himself in the same way on the window sill. Miles smiles over at him and Alex is struck, for the thousandth time, by how lovely he is. How radiant, even when tiredness still lingers around his eyes, even with a bruise marring his features. He's bright against the backdrop of the gray city.

“I were thinking,” Miles says, studying his own fingers. “I were thinking, er... I might stay a while, this time. If you'll have me.”

“... How long?”

Miles takes his time answering. He smokes in silence for a while, watching as the smoke drifts lazily away from him. “I dunno. Forever?”

Alex feels robbed of breath. He struggles to say, “Don't say that if you don't mean it.” It sounds like a plea.

“I've been thinking about it for a long time.” Miles stubs out his cigarette. He finally looks Alex in the eye. “I think I'm done wandering. I think, whatever I were looking for... I dunno, Al. I think maybe it's right here. With you.”

Alex can see it so clearly- a future with Miles. Waking up with him every morning, breakfasts together and nights out, at the pub or a restaurant, watching crap telly with him and listening to all his stupid jokes, introducing him round to all his friends, bickering and teasing, comforting and encouraging, falling into bed with him at night...

Troubled by Alex's lack of reaction, Miles adds, “I'll get a proper job, you know, so I can pitch in and that. And I'll tidy up after meself- I know you like things clean- and maybe we can get out of this flat. Move somewhere a little nicer, somewhere with less of a, like, history-”

Alex shuts him up with a kiss. “Of course I want you to stay.”

Miles' eyes go hopeful. “Really? You'll have me?”

“Yeah. I think it's time we gave this thing a proper shot, eh?”

Miles' smile returns, full of fondness. He brushes Alex's hair behind his ear. “I do love you, you know.”

Alex draws him into another kiss.

The one thing he can't imagine is ever being completely secure in the knowledge that Miles won't leave him again. But maybe that will come in time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate Valentine's Day. If you'd like to commiserate, or tell me why I'm wrong, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://www.dontcareajot.tumblr.com). <3


End file.
